


In Patrick's Eyes

by dadtrickstump



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Van Days, descriptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 06:59:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14443881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadtrickstump/pseuds/dadtrickstump
Summary: In Patrick’s eyes, not only was Pete everything, he was everywhere– loud concert stadiums, the stars that heavenly lit up the night sky, the seats of a van that seemed far too small for four (mostly) grown men. In Patrick’s eyes, he was precariously lovely and shamefully appealing– long lashes fluttering against Patrick’s neck on those nights he hoped he never forgot, calloused hands splayed carelessly across his torso, breath fanning over the hollow of his throat, all adding up to a sensation that was far, far too hot— but Patrick wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because Pete was his world, everything he held dear, everything he loved about the earth wrapped up in his best friend’s flamboyant personality and big, eye crinkling grins.





	In Patrick's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after my chemistry exam haha its weird have fun with this

“Alright, Patrick, this next question is for you. How do you feel about Pete Wentz?” The curious interviewer asked, but Patrick couldn’t focus on her, not when Pete was there, sending him an irresistible smile. Patrick needed to think about it.  
In Patrick’s eyes, Pete was a flower; incredibly unique and tediously fragile. In Patrick’s eyes, he was the sun that set in the bright shades of the evening sky, and the moonlight that so beautifully cascaded across his face during the blissful nights Patrick wished would never come to a close. In Patrick’s eyes, Pete was everything homely– the scent of cookies in the oven, freshly cut grass, the sight of a wonderfully happy family. Yet at the same time, he was everything sinful– sharp hips, sweat soaked skin, warm, dark eyes. Everything Patrick wanted, everything he longed for, everything he wished he could be good enough for.  
In Patrick’s eyes, not only was Pete everything, he was everywhere– loud concert stadiums, the stars that heavenly lit up the night sky, the seats of a van that seemed far too small for four (mostly) grown men. In Patrick’s eyes, he was precariously lovely and shamefully appealing– long lashes fluttering against Patrick’s neck on those nights he hoped he never forgot, calloused hands splayed carelessly across his torso, breath fanning over the hollow of his throat, all adding up to a sensation that was far, far too hot— but Patrick wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because Pete was his world, everything he held dear, everything he loved about the earth wrapped up in his best friend’s flamboyant personality and big, eye crinkling grins.  
He was aware, however, that Pete was not comparable to everything. Pete was most definitely not the sun, warm and full of hope and endless prosperity. Rather, he was the moon– dazzling and serious, and simultaneously mischievous and playful. He was every intense emotion Patrick’s mind was able to conjure up, that being the best way he could think to describe it. Pete was intensity; the physical embodiment of authenticity– not a thing about him was an act or charade.  
In Patrick’s eyes, Pete was essentially just one small, compact, and energetic contradiction. Nothing he did, no course of action he took or decision he made, fit together or made any sort of sense. It was almost as if everything he did, every emotion he felt, was raw and unkempt, but at the same time feigned and guarded. Patrick couldn’t tell. He never could with Pete– right was wrong, up was down, and yes was no with that boy. Which was why, in Patrick’s eyes, he was comparable to a rubix cube of sorts— one that would shift every five minutes, so that just when you thought you’d finally figured it out, it’d change again. Patrick was playing a game that was completely and utterly rigged, that he had no chance of winning, and yet for some reason, he foolishly continued to play. Patrick wasn’t sure how good a metaphor that was, Pete was always the one who was good with those.  
That was another thing, Pete’s words. Every word he spoke, even the simplest of sentences, was like a poem coming out of his baffling mouth. He was constantly full of the oddest, most mind-boggling similes and metaphors-- they flowed out of his brain like drool from the mouths of girls everywhere Pete went. Patrick wasn’t sure if he saw those looks or not, for he consistently seemed to have his eyes on Patrick, the corners of his lips turned up into a soft smile he saved only for the younger boy.  
In Patrick’s eyes, Pete was too good to be true, the epitome of all things right, everything confusing, and everything so beautifully pieced together it was terrifying. Pete was dangerous in that way. He had the ability to unknowingly unleash a series of reactions out of Patrick that included, but were not limited to the following: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, severe nervousness, abnormal fluctuations of blood flow to the genitalia at the most inconvenient of times, and aggressive stuttering. Just by existing, Pete could turn Patrick into an incompetent train-wreck of a man, all ability to think or form coherent sentence structures rendered useless, and Pete had no idea.  
Despite all of the above mentions of Pete being the prime example of purity and an abundance of happiness, Patrick knew that as hard as he tried to pretend, Pete didn’t always feel that way. Pete got sad just like anybody else, except with the added intensity of every emotion he felt, which turned any form of sadness he was feeling into a sea of self-loathing, suicidally repressed emotions that Patrick could only ever see in two forms. When Pete’s grins faltered, fell flat, or didn’t reach his eyes, and when he was plagued by nightmares that sounded as if they were formatted in the depths of a fiery hell, rather than just in his unconscious mind.  
None of that compared, however, to the manner in which Pete acted when he was truly angry. Terror-inflicting, eerie calmness, followed by silence and chill-inducing glares that Patrick was fortunate enough to have never been on the receiving end of. Pete did get irritated with Patrick, of course he did, but he’d never actually gotten angry at him that Patrick could remember, and he was fairly certain if it had happened, he would’ve remembered it.  
Pete’s mind had to have been the strangest, most insanely intriguing thing to have ever been apart of something in all of existence. The way he thought, the scenarios he carefully and considerately mapped out in his mind, the tedious processes he used to make every decision, all of it was fascinating to Patrick. Pete’s mind was a puzzle that Patrick couldn’t solve, and he wasn’t sure he should even try. It seemed like a private place, like if Pete wanted to let Patrick into the depths of it, then he would. So Patrick viewed him curiously from afar, but it was okay, he was content enough that Pete had let him into his life at all. And sometimes, Pete did let him into his mind, and Patrick would get to witness firsthand just what a wonderfully horrible place it was.  
Anyways, in Patrick’s eyes, Pete was incomparable to everything, not just people. Nothing Patrick could think of matched or even came close to him. He was perfect, yet flawed– his teeth were too big, his thumbs closely resembled toes, one of his eyes squinted more than the other when he cracked one of his breathtaking wide-smiles, Patrick could go on for hours about all the little flaws Pete possessed. But no matter how small and insignificant, or large and noticeable, all of those imperfections added up to something that was so spectacularly not fair– they added up to Pete. And in Patrick’s eyes, it didn’t get anymore perfect than wide, brown eyes, lit up with excitement after a show, or pretty greasy, floppy hair that fell into a face that had to have been carved by the gods themselves, because that tan, giddy face that smiled like sunshine and moonlight and dusk and dawn all mixing everytime he looked Patrick’s direction, was perfection. In the eyes of Patrick Stump, beauty, hesitance, laughs, pouts, smirks, tears, annoyance, clinginess, cuddles, arguments, forgiveness, friendship, drunken giggles, and the enticing addition of perseverance despite all odds added up to one thing. His best friend. His emotional (and occasionally physical) crutch. His person. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III was everything to Patrick.  
“Uhm..” He laughed a bit nervously, a blush creeping up his neck. “He’s my best friend in the world. Seriously, the dude means everything to me.”


End file.
